Blood On The Leaves
by Indignant Lemur
Summary: When a political rescue mission goes awry, a highly trained Delta Force team begins a fight for survival in the Brazillian jungle, fending off guerrillas, beasts, and a silent executioner they can't even see. Now beta'd by SnappleAddict. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue: The Assignment

**Title**: Blood On The Leaves  
**Summary**: "You know who's been following us, don't you?" "It's more of a case of "what", rather than of "whom"." Fact: Everything you do in the field can get you killed, including nothing.  
**Genre(s)**: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humour, Horror.  
**Warning(s)**: Violence, gore, coarse language, mature subject matter.

* * *

_Murphy's Law of Combat: The easy way is always mined._

**Prologue: The Assignment**

Date: 3 June, 2006  
Time: 13:35 PM

"For the last decade or so, the government has been keeping track of a series of murders. I'm sure some of you recall the brutal murders out in the rural areas of Brazil near the Atlantic coastline a year ago during that heat wave. The victims were found by the locals, all strung up in the trees, skinned, and often beheaded..."

Several men and women in the briefing room nodded their heads grimly. They remembered. How could they forget? It had made international news, especially when the local police sent into the jungles to investigate were often found strung up beside the victims themselves. The victims were all male, all members of a "local" guerrilla force, and all were within the age range of nineteen to forty-five. Give or take a few years for the latter end of that range. The few policemen that had survived had concluded that whoever the murderer was –although it was suspected that there was more than one- he or she was doing to those guerrillas what many hunters did to their own kills. Staff Sergeant (SSgt.) Dagny Sakariasen could remember one reported explaining that "It was the same as stringing a deer up, skinning it, removing its head as a trophy"... Dagny shook her head. Militant animal rights groups had been –and still were- suspected as the perps, but nothing could be proven. All evidence had been destroyed, and few witnesses, if any, surv-

-The moron was talking again. She should have been paying attention. Silently, she berated herself, cutting off her own train of thought and returning her attention to the man at the head of the brightly lit room.

'Focus, Dag. You might miss something.'

"... Explanations as to the situation down in Brazil, and why you've been called here today. I believe this video will help you understand."

The thin, middle-aged man at the front of the room adjusted his tie, turned, and pressed a button on a nearby remote control. The projector beside him suddenly came to life, infrared images of a satellite surveillance camera playing out on the wall on the other side of the room. The lights were shut off, and everyone turned to view the images. Dagny turned as well, but somehow she already knew what they would see.

She heard her team's Sergeant First Class (SFC) beside her grumble and wasn't surprised when she got a better look at the video. The surveillance footage was terrible, but it was easy enough to see the several women and children, apparently bound and gagged inside of what appeared to be rudimentary hut. It was difficult to tell with the infrared skewing all other details except what was hot, what was cold, and what looked vaguely like the shape of a human being. The women and children were probably from a nearby village, Dagny assumed. Hostages, being held either for money, or supplies.

Dagny paused, realizing that that did not fit with the profiles of the murders. Perhaps, they were being held for information. That made more sense than the hostages-for-money/supplies theory. The women and children would be released in exchange for information... But about what? About the murders? That fit. The guerrillas wanted to know who was killing them off. The local villages would be the obvious places to find information... Especially if the local villages were the ones who hired the murderer. A sense of foreboding settled in Dagny's gut. If that were the case, those hostages would not get out of the camp alive. Or in one piece...

Abruptly, the video and audio recording stopped. The lights came back on. The room's occupants blinked rapid, eyes reluctant to adjust to the sudden change of lighting. They turned to the moron –also known as the none-too-popular Sergeant Major Bartleby- once more, all frowns and scowls.

Bartleby adjusted the collar of his uniform, coughed, and said, "Obviously, the guerrillas have been kidnapping women and children from local villages all around; probably hoping to exchange their lives for information about the murderer. They've gone and kidnapped the daughter of one of the most influential politicians down there, now. The Brazilian government is torn. Those that support the girl's father are refusing to act –a death threat was issued, apparently- while the other half of their government is baying for blood. As for the guerrillas... They got a little break during the colder months, but now the bastard's back again." –Dagny nodded to herself, her suspicions confirmed- "Unfortunately, the guerrilla's plan backfired; none of the locals have any information at all. They didn't hire him –or them, as the case may be- and they certainly don't want him anywhere nearby. Lately, it's not just the guerrilla's that have been picked off recently, but the villages' men-"

"I take it we can no longer suspect a militant animal rights organization, then?" Major Jacob Langdon, a tall, weathered-looking man with a more than his fair share of scars and a scowl that could strike terror even the most thick-headed private, interrupted mildly. Quite why there was a major with the teams for this briefing, Dagny honestly couldn't say. Usually, a captain led a team, and, while subordinate to a major, rarely worked with majors on assignments such as this. Perhaps the "higher-ups" just wanted a little extra manpower –or person power as some of the more feminist soldiers would insist.

"Definitely not." Sergeant Major Bartleby agreed. Coughing again, –this appeared to be an odd habit of Bartleby's- the man continued where he left off. "Your assignment is to get the hostages and get out of there, to be rather frank. The murderer, whoever the hell the bastard is, is still hanging around, the guerrillas won't thank you for taking their bargaining chips, and the locals are starting to get a bit cagey."

"When do we leave?" Captain Marcus Martinez and several others, wanted to know. Dagny took a moment to look her team's captain over. A short man, in comparison with other members of their team, with a tanned skin tone that clearly displayed his Hispanic heritage for anyone who cared to look, and probably what was once wavy, dark hair. Now said hair was peppered with grey, cut short and kept short. Somehow, it made the man seem older than his thirty-seven years of age. He'd be retiring soon, most likely. A pity, Dagny thought to herself. Martinez was one of the better captains she'd worked with.

"Tomorrow, at 01:00 hours."

Beside her, SFC Zuberi Kaye, a tall, dark man with a heavy Jamaican accent and a body built to resemble a tank, scowled. Dagny understood why. Three days would have been better. Four days? Wonderful. Five? Too much to ask for, but one could always hope... But one day? That was borderline obscene.

Dagny sighed inwardly and rubbed at an old scar at the back of her neck absent-mindedly as they were dismissed. Mentally, she made a checklist of all of the supplies and equipment she'd need as she left the room and headed to the barracks. She'd need to clean and check her rifle and her handgun, the ammunition and food rations were supplied, –no worries there- as were the combat knife and Kukri...

But, given SFC Kaye's tendency to get shot combined with Sgt. Jansen's proclivity to use tracers just a tad too often, –usually resulting in the SFC getting shot- she planned on packing a shit load of medical supplies.


	2. Tactical Assault: Part I

**Title**: Blood On The Leaves  
**Summary**: "You know who's been following us, don't you?" "It's more of a case of "what", rather than of "whom"." Fact: Everything you do in the field can get you killed, including nothing.  
**Genre(s)**: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humour, Horror.  
**Warning(s)**: Violence, gore, coarse language, mature subject matter.

* * *

_Murphy's Law of Combat: Professional soldiers are predictable; the world is full of dangerous amateurs._

**Chapter One: Tactical Assault Part I**

The heat was murder.

It seemed stupid, being only able to focus on the heat. After all, they were in the middle of a bug-infested jungle, hoping to God that the Major knew how to handle a compass and a map, trying to save a bunch of civilians –if the guerrillas hadn't already killed them all.

Wiping the beads of sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her camouflage-print jacket, Dagny took a moment to observe her surroundings. Captain Martinez and Major Langdon were working out their approximate position and deciding on the best course to take, so it wasn't like the rest of the combined teams was doing much of anything.

Compared to the deciduous forests of home, filled with evergreens, and pines, and oak trees, the jungle environment was a startling contrast. The trees seemed taller, thinner in some cases. The leaves had more of a bright-green shade to them, and one could barely see the jungle floor for all the ferns and low-lying foliage. Brightly coloured flowers broke up the haze of greens and browns, and the occasional bright spots where the sun's light had managed to get through the boughs of the trees unhindered almost seemed to make the greenery glow.

While pretty, the jungle was also unnerving. Looking around, Dagny could hardly tell the scenery to her left from the scenery to her right. It would be easy to get lost in here, far too easy to wander off course. The jungle was supposed to be filled with the sounds of animals and all manner of chirpings and growls and howling s, but it wasn't. It was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of the wind in the trees or the quiet, cautious chirp of a bird... Every sound the Captain and Major made, every word, seemed far too loud against this strange silence. This was the sort of place one's imagination thrived upon, playing tricks with one's eyes and one's ears. Seeing things move where there were only shadows, hearing things approach where there were only one's comrades...

Yes, this place was far too unnerving.

'How can people live here?' Dagny wondered, feeling that foreboding feeling settle in her gut once more. It was too quiet, too strange for her. Perhaps it was simply a reaction to being confronted with unfamiliar territory, but something seemed off to the staff sergeant. Very off. 'The sooner we get out of here, the better.'

"Sergeant First Class! Staff Sergeant!"

Dagny jumped, startled but the abrupt summons, and turned towards the speaker. It was Captain Martinez. He was scowling; whatever he and Major Langdon had been arguing about, Major Langdon had won. Dagny shifted the shoulder strap of her rifle and jogged over to her superior officers. Sergeant First Class Kaye was already there, multitude of non-regulation braids and all. How on Earth the man had managed to avoid a buzz cut was a mystery, even to the Captain.

"Sir?" SFC Kaye's heavily accented baritone inquired. Dagny said nothing, waiting for whatever orders the Captain chose to send her way. A bird squawked loudly in the distance.

"Get the troops mobilized." Captain Martinez addressed the Sergeant First Class first, then Dagny herself. "Sakariasen, take Jansen and scout ahead, but keep in within eyesight of the teams."

Dagny groaned inwardly, only barely refraining from groaning out loud. Jansen was the team idiot, tracer-happy, trigger-happy, grenade-happy and about as stealthy as a tank. He was also one of the best shots in the team and had a very fine-tuned set of ears, but that paled in comparison to all of his potentially lethal faults. Briefly, the Staff Sergeant wondered just what she'd done to deserve Jansen... and just who Jansen had bribed to move all the way up from Private to Sergeant.

"We've just received a radio transmission that the guerrilla's are expecting us." The Captain's scowl deepened at this. "That dolt flying the chopper went and flew right over the camp. Dismissed!" Martinez turned on his heel and left, presumably to argue with the Major again.

"Pilots –don't have the brains God gave cabbage." Kaye muttered, his "the" sounding more like "deh" with his accent, just barely loud enough for Dagny to hear as they both turned and set about mobilizing and scouting respectively. Dagny fought not to smile. Zuberi was a good guy, though his sense of humour could be a bit morbid at times and he was not known for giving straight answers to anyone but the Captain.

Checking her rifle, Dagny flicked the safety catch to the "off" position and called the team idiot over to her. Jansen was charming, she supposed, in a boyish way; short, brown hair, big blue eyes, and a grin that broadcasted his questionable IQ for miles. Dagny doubted the kid would make it past Sergeant. God forbid he ever became a senior officer.

"What's u- I mean, orders, ma'am?" Jansen only just managed to correct himself, but did not manage to refrain from rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Dagny gave the kid a look of warning and passed on the Captain's orders. Despite –or, rather, in spite of- her annoyance with the Sergeant, she couldn't quite prevent herself from feeling small twinge of amusement.

"Captain wants us to scout ahead. Guerrillas know we're coming." She told the kid shortly, finding herself having to exert a considerable amount of self-control when Jansen checked and dropped his M4A1 carbine. And then bent over to pick it up, dropping his canteen. And a grenade. Upon gathering said dropped objects, Jansen jumped back into an upright position, dropping his canteen. Again.

Dagny sighed... Today was going to be a long day.

**FOUR HOURS LATER**

Once Jansen had been sorted out, it hadn't taken too long to find the guerrilla camp. It's not like they made much of an attempt to hide the place to begin with. The so-called scouts that had Captain Martinez so worried were pointless. They were far too spread out, failed to maintain constant radio communications, and, for the most part, just weren't paying attention. No wonder so many of them were getting picked off by that murderer. It was like they were asking to be shot!

Dagny had happily obliged them.

Outside of quietly dealing with any guerrilla scouts they encountered, the trip heading down the small valley that the encampment had been situated in was more or less uneventful. Conversation was kept to a minimum, dry leaves and twigs were avoided, and they collectively made as little sound as humanly possible as they assembled some two-hundred metres from the camp. Major Langdon would take one half of their combined teams, while Captain Martinez would take the other. Each group would move to opposing sides of the encampment, each soldier fanning out, effectively flanking the guerrillas.

As the two teams silently converged upon the guerrilla encampment, they spread out and split up, their positions forming a V-shape. Silently, Dagny moved down the steep slope of the hill she'd situated herself on, placing herself on one of the smaller outcroppings of the slope leading down towards the camp. Slowly screwing the silencer onto the end of the barrel of her SR-25 rifle, checking the scope, she settled her finger on the trigger and waited, watching. Captain wanted to know what was going on down there before they took any decisive action. Major Langdon had taken Kaye and three of the sergeants, moving off to the eastern side of the camp for a better view. That left Captain Martinez with herself and the four remaining sergeants at the southern side of the camp, hidden in the dense foliage.

"Doesn't look like they've noticed the missing scouts..." Major Langdon's voice crackled through the radio's receiver. Dagny's mind supplied the vague memory of the scouts, half-hidden by leaves and bushes, small, quiet pools of blood seeping into the soil... "Anyone have a visual on the hostages yet?"

Dagny shifted slightly, looking down the crosshairs of her rifle, searching the camp. After several long moments of searching, she paused. The guerrillas were smart enough not to leave the hostages in the open, she'd given them that much. Adjusting the magnification of the scope, she caught sight of one of the children. A little boy, down in a rickety little hut by the main building. He didn't look seriously injured, but she'd seen healthier-looking kids in worse places than this. He had a large bruise on the side of his face –and probably several more around his ribs and stomach if these guerrillas held true to form. His clothes were dirty, and torn in several places, though if he had any injuries in the same locations as the tears, Dagny could not tell; the child was curled up, trying to appear as small as possible.

It was hard not to feel any sort of maternal indignation, and anger or concern, at the state of the child. She wasn't supposed to. It wasn't professional, and such things would impair her judgement. Dagny tried to suppress her inner turmoil, peering down the scope at the guards around the hut instead. She did not succeed.

As quietly as she could, she reached her hand down to her hip and brought the radio residing in a holster there up to her face. "Captain, caught sight of one of the kids. In the hut by the main building, at your four. No visual confirmation of any other hostages yet. I count three guards around the hut, four down by the main building on my side."

"Understood." Captain Martinez acknowledged. "I see him." Several others quietly let her know that they also saw the child. Kaye informed her of another guard at the back of the hut, and five more guards at the back of the main building. Two were also playing poker at the edge of the encampment. The only other visible man could only be vaguely seen from the second floor window of the main building, speaking to someone outside of their collective lines of vision. Presumably the leader.

"Kaye and Jansen will handle the poker players and the guy at the back of the hut." Major Langdon radioed in. Dagny resisted the urge to groan. When would people learn never to pair Kaye and Jansen up? Those two were hell-bent on killing each other, and nine times out of ten they nearly succeeded.

"Sakariasen and I will take the front guards." Captain Martinez didn't approve of Langdon's pairing of his SFC and danger-boy sergeant either, by the sound of his voice. "My sergeants will handle any others that show up on our side. Yours will do the same for your side, understood?"

It seemed strange, hearing a Captain order a Major around, but Dagny supposed stranger things had happened. Like SFC Kaye getting away with his dreadlocks... Then again, it wasn't like they were in the regular, run-of-the-mill branch of the army.

"Understood." Langdon answered, though a bit curtly. What on earth had those two been arguing about this time? During Dagny and Jansen's time scouting up ahead, they could hear –albeit very faintly- the two men arguing non-stop, like argumentative little children. Dagny suppressed a scowl. _Men_.

Dagny just barely caught the end of Martinez's order for radio silence as they all carefully crept closer to the encampment. Someone on the east end stepped on a twig. The resulting crack almost made Dagny's heart stop, but the poker players, the two most likely to sound the alarm on that side, did not notice.

'Thank God...'

Settling on her stomach at the slanted edge of an outcropping, one that tilted skyward, Dagny took up aim, the crosshairs of her rifle landing on the chest cavity of one of the more alert guards. Better to take out the nervous ones, she thought. The lazy ones took longer to react. Trying not to let a sudden wave of anxiousness control her trigger-finger, Dagny waited for the silent order to fire, watching her nearby Captain out of the corners of her eyes. Adrenaline started to enter her blood; she could tell by the way her skin seemed more sensitive to the textures of the jungle floor and the faint breeze, the way her hearing became more keen and her sense of smell became sharper. Her heart began to beat faster as Martinez raised his hand with his index and middle fingers raised, the other digits curled, signalling that he was about to give the order to begin the assault.

The wrist twisted, the two extended fingers now parallel to the ground. Dagny returned her attention to the guard on the receiving end of her SR-25. The other guards had turned away, talking amongst themselves. Perfect. Taking a deep breath and holding it to steady her aim, she fired. The bullet left the barrel of the rifle with a low-pitched chirping sound. Dagny shifted her shoulder to allow for the kickback.

The guard dropped to the jungle floor, lifeless... The others didn't notice.

Exhaling, Dagny moved onto the closer of the two other guards by the hut. She inhaled, steadied her aim... Another chirp; the guard fell to the ground, lifeless. His companion cried out, scrambling away from the body, tripping in the process... Another member of her team took that one down as he fell.

The four by the main building, hearing the chirping of the sniper rifles and the cry of their comrade, drew their weapons and wisely dove for cover. Captain Martinez and the four sergeants moved down the slope quickly, but carefully, preparing for a close-range assault as the guards frantically turned this way and that way, trying to discern the location of their assailants...

And then all hell broke loose.


	3. Tactical Assault: Part II

**Title**: Blood On The Leaves  
**Summary**: "You know who's been following us, don't you?" "It's more of a case of "what", rather than of "whom"." Fact: Everything you do in the field can get you killed, including nothing.  
**Genre(s)**: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humour, Horror.  
**Warning(s)**: Violence, gore, coarse language, mature subject matter.

* * *

_Murphy's Law of Combat: Tracers work both ways._

**Chapter Two: Tactical Assault: Part II**

Not even half a second after she fired her third shot, taking out a guard half hidden behind a large crate, Dagny heard Langdon and his half of the team began their end of the assault on the encampment. Guerrillas flooded from the main building, seemingly coming from nowhere. Dagny suspected that there was an underground level of some sort.

Captain Martinez led the four sergeants into the melee, rifles firing rapidly as they took cover behind several crates and trees. Dagny remained at her post on the outcropping, picking off any hostiles that got too close. She shifted her hold on the SR25, moving the crosshairs over a guerrilla on the roof of the main building. This one had brought a machine gun up with him. Deciding that she wasn't going to have any of that, she pulled the trigger without hesitation, watched the body fall, tumbling over the side of the building... It was strange, picking hostiles off as a sniper, because Dagny had never really fancied herself one. During the first few weeks in the unit under Martinez's command, the captain had been quick to notice that she had a talent for it, however, and had insisted on getting her some basic training in that area... Risked his reputation on putting a newbie in with the "real" snipers...

Something moved. There, by the hut. The guards were trying to get to the hostages. Likely, they planned on slaughtering their prisoners rather than running the risk of having the women and children escape. Bastards. Dagny adjusted her scope, moving the crosshairs over the face of the lead guard.

She pulled the trigger once more. Blood spattered across the side of the building. She wasted no time in moving onto the next guerrilla, but this one seemed to have noticed that someone other than the soldiers on the ground with them was picking his comrades off. He dove behind the corner of the hut, disappearing from her line of vision.

Dagny swore, her pulse jumped. A knot twisted her insides when the man didn't peer around the corner, like he should have. Where the fuck had he gone? She reduced the magnification of her scope and quickly took stock of the immediate area. Seven hostiles –possibly more if there was an underground level were barricaded inside the main building, frantically firing projectiles and throwing explosives from the shattered windows. The remaining guards that had been outside lay dead on the ground, their blood spattered on the side of the building, on the crates, the nearby plants... Dagny shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. Another four guerrillas were on the second level of the building. None on the roof that she could see. She returned her scope-enhanced gaze to the ones she could see. The second and ground level hostiles had Captain and his operators pinned down at the edge of the encampment. Martinez was calling for cover.

Glancing at the corner the guerrilla had disappeared around, Dagny decided that wherever the hell the man had gone, he wasn't coming back any time soon. Somehow, this did little to make her feel less uneasy about the man's disappearance. She moved the crosshairs of her scope over the barricaded hostiles, searching for whatever clear angles she could get; no sense in wasting ammunition on shots she wasn't sure she could make.

It was strange; Dagny reflected as she pulled the trigger again and again, sometimes missing, sometimes catching glimpses the lifeblood of the hostiles she killed, splattering onto the floors, the walls... Being able to kill from a distance somehow made her feel oddly detached about it all, as if she'd withdrawn into some small part of her mind. And, to be perfectly honest, she had done just that. She'd withdrawn into a part of her mind where there was no sound, only the quiet lull of static. It was a place she often went when she killed on assignments like this, body going onto autopilot, instincts taking over while her mind shrank away from reality...

What was it about guns that made the shooters feel so detached from their actions? Was it because there was no real contact between herself and her victims? That could be it... Truthfully, Dagny had never really been fond of guns. Sure, she used them and, yes, she was a damn good shot, but that didn't mean she liked them –especially not in the hands of amateurs. An amateur with a gun felt more detached than an amateur with a knife or a club. Shootings were so distant, making the shooter feel secure, isolated even. Knifing someone was far more intimate. It required getting up close and personal, close enough to see the light leaving the victim's eyes...

Something crunched under foot behind her. Dagny felt her pupils constrict, her heart skip a beat. Without another thought, she whipped around, reflexes leaping into action... And found nothing. No one was there. Nothing except a broken twig, barely two feet away from where she was lying. Something cold and entirely unpleasant settled in her chest, like a cold, iron hand squeezing her ribcage. That twig hadn't broken on its own. Twigs didn't just randomly snap in half just for the hell of it. Something or someone had to have broken it... The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Someone had been right behind her.

"Sakariasen!" Martinez was shouting at her. Dagny swore for the second time since the assault began, realizing what she'd done.

She'd abandoned her task, had failed to cover her comrades. Rolling back onto her stomach, she resumed picking off the hostiles, targeting the ones she saw arming explosives. Now and then she managed to shoot a grenade in a hostile's hand, killing the hostile and, occasionally, the poor bastard beside him.

As the assault continued, an uneasy feeling settled inside of her, like a heavy weight. Her thoughts turned to the man that had disappeared around the corner. Could he have doubled back around her flank? No, someone would have seen him... she hoped. A hostile getting behind her while she provided covering fire for her captain and comrades could and would be fatal –and not just for her, either...

"Sakariasen, move in!" Captain's voice derailed her train of thought, crackling loudly over the radio at her hip. Dagny took another look at the scene below. It had become eerily silent...

Grabbing the device and depressing a button on its side, she confirmed that she had received the orders. Quickly pushing herself off of the ground, she thought about removing the silencer, but decided against it and hopped off edge of the slope, landing in a crouch. Checking that she had another twenty-round magazine ready, she moved forward to join a fellow operator behind one of the larger crates.

"Dag." Sgt. Lopez greeted her, eyes never leaving the main building. Dagny nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face and bringing her rifle up to bear. Ever since he had gotten used to having a female soldier in "his" unit, Lopez had rarely called her anything but "Dag" – though "Dag" was sometimes exchanged for "Ma'am" when he was trying to be polite. Shaking her head, unable to feel anything other than a sisterly fondness for the man, and focused on the situation at hand.

She strained her ears, listening for the telltale shuffle or the click of a magazine being loaded. Dagny, but heard only the quiet whimper of a child –the hostages. Captain Martinez and the three other operators were nowhere in sight.

"Sir, shall I retrieve the hostages?" Dagny asked via her radio. For several long moments, no one answered. Dagny exchanged worried looks with the sergeant beside her. She depressed the button on the side of the radio once more and tried again. "Sir? Captain, respond."

A quiet crackling answered her as she removed her thumb from the transmit button.  
Dagny shifted her weight nervously. It wasn't like the Captain not to respond immediately...

"Martinez, here. We're inside the main building." The gruff voice of her Captain finally answered. Dagny heard Sgt. Lopez heave a sigh of relief. Dagny, however, felt her heart sink at that her Captain said next. "Retrieve the hostages... or whoever's left of them. Looks like all of the women were killed before we arrived. Including the politician's daughter." –Martinez's voice was grim- "Kids might still be alive, but don't get your hopes up."

"Yessir." Dagny rose from her crouched position behind the crate, the sergeant rising with her, and moved carefully towards the hut. She stopped a few feet away from the hut, off to the side. There was no guarantee that a guerrilla wasn't hiding in the hut with the children –if there were any children left, that is. Lowering her rifle, she called out. "Hey? Kids, you in there?"

No response. Sgt. Lopez made another attempt to communicate, speaking Spanish instead of English. Mentally, Dagny kicked herself. Of course the kids wouldn't understand English! The main language in these parts was Spanish.

Why hadn't she thought of that?

From within the hut, the voice of a young boy answered. Dagny shivered as the sound. The voice seemed so small, so frail... She hated to think of what the child's condition was if he sounded so weak.

"What did he say?" Dagny prompted the sergeant to translate. On the other side of the camp, she could hear the other members of her team moving about, rummaging through the main building in search of any other hostages.

Sgt. Lopez cleared his throat, and swatted an insect away from his face as he answered. "He said, 'Are the bad men gone?', ma'am. He wants to know where his mother is..."

Dagny stared at the hut, feeling her chest constrict painfully. That poor boy... A surge of pity hit her, gnawing at her from the inside out. She shook her head, as if the action could clear away the thoughts of the boy's future. Suddenly motherless, probably traumatized, beaten, bruised... There was no way the boy would ever get the psychological treatment he'd need to recover from something like this. Not in this country. Poor kid probably wouldn't make it into his thirties –if he even got past his twenties...

"...'am, what do I tell him?" The sergeant was addressing her. Dagny blinked, asked him to repeat the question. Lopez gave her a strange look. "I said, what do I tell him, ma'am?"

Lopez had to work hard not to let the grimace show, only to find himself working even harder to resist the urge to run over to the boy... The boy who so strongly resembled his youngest brother, with the same wide, brown eyes and wild hair... The sight made his eyes sting, but he maintained control over his emotions. He had to. It hurt, but that hurt had to be kept in check. Delta Force operators didn't lose control of themselves. It was something of an unwritten rule, a silent taboo. It just wasn't done.

"Tell him... Tell him that we don't know."

Dagny found it hard to swallow as she said those words. It was cruel to lie to a child like that, but far kinder than telling him of the fate of his mother, whom had probably been tortured for information –raped, too, most likely before finally being killed at the hands of the guerrillas. Dagny had seen it before. Women who were kidnapped by men like that never came out of the experience whole, if they ever actually got out. Most didn't. The few that did...

Dagny shook her head once more.

Lopez looked up at the Staff Sergeant, caught off-guard by the thickness of the woman's voice. He wasn't the only one having to refrain from dashing over to the child's side, it seemed. Somehow, this surprised him more than it should have. There weren't many female soldiers in the Delta Force –if there were any at all. Lopez supposed that was why his superior was always so distant and professional; being one of the few females in this branch of the military was bound to be both daunting and challenging. If fellow soldiers weren't playing cruel pranks, then uptight superior officers were making life difficult. Despite this, Dagny would have been expected to work past such things. On that she had succeeded.

Strangely, he felt he pitied her for that, and wondered how the teams' staff sergeant would have been otherwise. Would she have been more benign? Chatty? Coy, perhaps? Lopez frowned, finding that he could picture Dagny being any of those.

In the end, Lopez reflected as he watched Dagny, it didn't matter how cold and distant you made yourself out as. Something got to you sooner or later. For SSgt. Dagny, that "something" turned out to be children.

'Why must humans be so cruel to each other...?'


	4. Suspicions

**Title**: Blood On The Leaves  
**Summary**: "You know who's been following us, don't you?" "It's more of a case of "what", rather than of "whom"." Fact: Everything you do in the field can get you killed, including nothing.  
**Genre(s)**: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humour, Horror.  
**Warning(s)**: Violence, gore, coarse language, mature subject matter.

* * *

_Murphy's Law of Combat: There's no such place as a convenient foxhole._

**Chapter Three: Suspicions**

Date: 5 June, 2006  
Time: 12:13

Zuberi frowned at the scene before him and SSgt. Sakariasen. Captain Martinez and Major Langdon were arguing again, and rather heatedly, too. It was about the three kids they'd found within the guerrilla camp. Langdon wanted to head back to the drop site and let the Brazilian government handle the task of sending the kids to their respective villages. Martinez wanted to return the kids personally. Given that Martinez had the support of several other soldiers, it would only be logical to assume that he was winning, right? Wrong. Langdon was not only pulling rank, but had the support of some of the remaining soldiers as well. Orders were orders, unfortunately, and the hierarchy of the military made itself known once more.

'Arrogant prick.'

Zuberi took a moment to look the older, scarred man over.

There was something odd about the man. Zuberi had noticed during their end of the assault on the guerrillas. He was slower than most high-ranking officers when he drew his weapons, and his hands seemed too delicate. More like a doctor or a scientist than a soldier. There weren't enough calluses on his hands, and this contradicted the scars on the man's face. They looked like the sort of scar one might get from a sharp, non-serrated knife. Those scars implied that the man had been in combat before, but those hands and the slowness in drawing his weapons implied that he had not. The way he constantly argued with and undermined the Captain was strange as well. While a major could lead a team, he had never heard of this particular Major before and Captain seemed uncomfortable with having the man on this assignment. Perhaps they were new acquaintances, unused to working with each other? Were that the case, it would seem that Langdon had requested to come along –perhaps as a last assignment before he retired. If that were true, why would a guest argue with the hosts in such a way? It simply did not make sense...

"What do you think, Sakariasen?" He addressed his Staff Sergeant suddenly. The woman turned her head to regard him coolly for a moment before her expression became thoughtful.

Those two words summed up Staff Sergeant Dagny Sakariasen perfectly, Zuberi thought to himself while the woman considered her answer. Cool and thoughtful. Professional, one might say. In all of his eleven years of serving with the woman under Captain Martinez, he'd only seen her smile three times: the first time happened when her nephew visited the barracks on Christmas Day because she was on duty and could not visit the child herself; the second, when her father had presented her with some ceremonial hunting knife for her eighteenth birthday (some cultural thing, he assumed); and the third, when she had gotten her hands on some antitank weaponry during an assignment over in the Middle East on a mission similar to the one they were on now. Zuberi suppressed a smile; she'd looked like a kid in a candy shop.

"I support the Captain. The children should be taken back to their homes as soon as possible." Dagny's voice, carrying that soft but distinct Norwegian accent, derailed his train of thought. Her tone was neutral, but her body language revealed that she was becoming weary of their superior officers' constant bickering. Zuberi could sympathize. The two were like children –something he'd never thought he'd think about his Captain.

The woman's answer, although neutral in tone, did little to surprise Zuberi. What Sakariasen lacked in terms of a consistently warm, friendly demeanour, she made up for with what could sometimes be described as an almost radical loyalty to her team and Captain. Naturally, since the Major was not really a member of the team, Sakariasen saw no reason to show the man any loyalty above or beyond what was required of her according to the hierarchy that was the military. Certainly, she would kill an enemy soldier for him, and she might possibly be persuaded to push the man out of the way of an incoming bullet, but beyond that, Langdon would get nothing from the Scandiwhovian or many of the other members of the two teams, for that matter.

Needless to say, Langdon had not made a favourable impression upon the other soldiers.

"Who is tending to the children?" He wanted to know. Glancing around the temporary camp they had set up, Zuberi found the answer to his own question. The kids had had Jansen assigned to them as a babysitter. The Sergeant First Class had to refrain from groaning at the mere sight of the young sergeant, remembering how Jansen had –yet again– nearly shot him during the assault on the guerrilla camp.

The fool was always doing something stupid. Always. If he wasn't accidentally pulling the pins out of his grenades, he was nearly stepping on mines , accidentally setting off alarms, or accidentally shooting his comrades –or, worse, himself. And God forbid the moron's rifle jammed in the middle of a firefight again! The man was incompetent, plain and simple. All nerves and no brains! The fact that he hadn't died or hadn't been found dead in a ditch somewhere was a miracle of biblical proportions as far as Zuberi was concerned.

'Clumsy git.'

"Sergeant Hayden will be taking over custody of the children within the hour." SSgt. Sakariasen informed him, noticing that his gaze was resting on the Sergeant and children. Zuberi snapped out of his reverie with a start. "Sergeants Jurgen, Lopez, Omi, and Klaus wish for only limited contact with the children. Jansen, Hayden, Williams, and Niu have offered look after them, taking different shifts throughout the day." Zuberi nodded, slightly surprised by how quickly his second had organized a rotational schedule for the care of the children. Perhaps the "professional" Staff Sergeant had a soft spot for kids, then...?

Neither of them spoke, both of them half-listening to the argument between their superior officers in the background, half-listening to the jungle around them. Birds chirped, though still quietly, cautiously... Wind rustled the leaves and small twigs and dry leaves crunched underfoot as some of the operators walked around the small clearing. There was some sunlight here, but not as much as he would have liked, personally, having come from a tropical country. Zuberi frowned at the scenery. There were too many dark patches, too many shadowed regions where other guerrillas could be hiding, waiting for the moment their backs were turned...

Zuberi shook his head, thin braids shifting and bouncing, unable to keep up with the sudden movement. Ruined towns, or occupied enemy bases, or even insurgent-filled cities he could handle. It was the eerily quiet places, like this jungle, that threw him. In cities and bases you usually knew –or at least could guess- where the enemy usually was, what he might look like, and most of what he would do. In the jungle, you could not always see your enemy coming and the very forest seemed to play tricks on the mind.

Something moved behind him. Zuberi whipped around, and scowled at himself as a small bird flitted across the clearing. He found himself rather surprised to find Sakariasen doing so as well. Unlike him, however, Sakariasen had moved to draw her weapon, stopping only when she realized that he was staring at her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other with what could almost be interpreted as nervousness, clearing her throat. After a long moment she muttered something along the lines of "Damn jungle can make a soldier paranoid", then brusquely turned on her heel and left.

Despite himself, Zuberi stared after the staff sergeant, and couldn't help but wonder about the woman as he watched the thick plait of her hair sway from side to side as she walked away from him. As the braid swayed to the right, he could just barely see a faint, slightly puckered scar running diagonally from the left side of the back of her neck up into the hairline, the rest, -if there was any more of that scar- was beyond his vision.

Briefly, he wondered how she'd gotten that one.

Soldiers had a habit of sharing stories –though usually only the humorous ones and while Sakariasen was one of the more distant members of the combined teams, she had, occasionally, taken part in such activities. Zuberi suspected that this was mostly because a sergeant would notice a new or previously unnoticed scar and would want to hear the story behind it. Distant or not, Sakariasen would typically take the time to answer a question if someone took the time to ask it.

Unlike the good Major. So far, the man had refused point blank to answer any questions –even the well-meant ones. Nor would he recount any previous missions or hilarious screw-ups...

Almost as if he didn't have any to talk about...

Once more, Zuberi turned his dark eyes towards Major Langdon, unable to help the feelings of suspicion rising within himself.

There was something very off about that man...


	5. The First Kill

**Title**: Blood On The Leaves  
**Summary**: "You know who's been following us, don't you?" "It's more of a case of "what", rather than of "whom"." Fact: Everything you do in the field can get you killed, including nothing.  
**Genre(s)**: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humour, Horror.  
**Warning(s)**: Violence, gore, coarse language, mature subject matter.

* * *

_Murphy's Law of Combat:Smart bombs have bad days, too._

**Chapter Four: First Kill**

It had been a fairly quiet day, the children chatting enthusiastically with Sergeant Hayden and Sergeant Jansen in Spanish, the rest of the teams moving carefully through the dense jungle, mindful of the none-too-friendly local inhabitants; jaguars that would drop down upon a man from above and snap his neck in its jaws, venomous snakes that a man rarely saw only after he'd stepped on it, and some particularly determined scorpions hell-bent on crawling up trousers, down shirts, and into sleeping bags, stinging the hell out of their victims...

Sgt. Jurgen, scouting up ahead with Sgt. Williams, had wandered off to the side, claiming that he'd thought he'd seen something. Williams honestly wasn't terribly concerned, standing by and waiting for his companion to return. If there was trouble, surely Jurgen would be able to call for assistance, if not squeeze of a few rounds to alert them all? Besides, Williams reasoned, Jurgen had always been overcautious, suspecting an enemy behind every tree, door, and corner. That was not to say that the man was paranoid, however –anything but that. Jurgen just liked to "make sure".

Usually with a lot of bullets.

No doubt, the others would taunt the guy once again about his overcautious ways that night, Williams thought to himself wryly. And they would conveniently forget that Jurgen's "pussyfooting" had saved their collective asses a number of times this year alone.

"Never mind!" Jurgen called back to him suddenly, sounding almost sheepish. Williams felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards momentarily. His fellow soldier, as always, sounded embarrassed for seeming so paranoid. Williams turned to return to their scouting, running a hand through his close-cut brown hair, shifting his hold on his rifle with his other hand. Momentarily, he wondered how Kaye could stand to have his hair so long when they went into hot climates like these.

He listened as dry leaves and small twigs crunched and cracked underfoot as his companion approached. Williams inhaled deeply, and had to refrain from coughing upon discovering an unfamiliar, musky scent. Odd, given that very musk wasn't there moments ago. Then again, will all the bizarre scents out here in the bush, who's to say what's odd and what's not. Hell, it was probably Jurgen.

'Christ, what kind of moron wears cologne out in the jungle?' He grumbled inwardly, scowling at is comrade's vanity. 'Funny, Jurg never struck me as the vain type before...'

Lost in his thoughts, Williams failed to notice how Jurgen's steps seem heavier than usual...

* * *

The screams and gunshots came out of nowhere.

Birds squawked their displeasure at the starling sound, wings flapping noisily as they fled their perches. Dagny's head shot up instantly, eyes already pinpointing the direction the sound had come from, as did those of the Martinez, Kaye, and several other operators. The Major looked up a second after the rest of the men, but while the others seemed frightened and concerned, there was a strange glint in that man's eyes... The look of a man presented with a not entirely unexpected slice of pie.

"Williams." The name left Dagny's mouth in a hiss. Inside, something cold and cruel twisted at her heart.

Williams and Kaye were the only members of their two teams with deep baritone voices like that. Williams was the only one of the two not present, out on sentry duty with a few others. She was up and running, rifle held at the ready as she moved to aid her comrade, without even waiting for her Captain or SFC to react. Behind her, she could just faintly hear them rushing to catch up with her. Her heart hammered as a short burst of rapid fire of an M4 sounded, followed by one of the most horrible sounds she had ever heard in her entire time serving in the military. It was the final scream of a man dying a cruel, painful death. Something she'd heard only once before from a fallen soldier, crushed by one of his own tanks...

She would have run right by the scene is it hadn't been for the blood.

Dagny fought not to gag as the sharp tang of copper hit her. She looked down at the scene, at the low-lying plant life, and saw nothing but red. It was everywhere. Something moved to just off to her side. Dagny brought her rifle up to bear, and froze as an all to familiar rasping sound reached her ears. The final, desperate breaths of a dying man.

Maybe it was because of the blood, because she knew that there was no way a human could lose that much of it and live. Maybe it was some subconscious instinct. Maybe it was just plain stupidity. Who knows? The end result, whatever the cause, was that she flung her rifle to the ground, dropping onto her knees, onto the blood-soaked earth, and found her hands covered in blood. So much blood... With one hand, she tried to stop the flow of blood from a gaping wound in Williams' chest, even though she knew it was futile. The other curved over the man's cheek, coated with blood and dirt. Despite herself, despite her medical training –the very training that told her that he was impossible to save she tore into the pockets of her pants, finding and pressing several thick cotton pads to the wound, her eyes meeting Williams' fearful blue ones, knowing that they'd be glazed and dull soon. Knowing and hating that she knew enough to know. Knowing and hating that Williams could see it in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but blood was the only thing to pass out from behind his lips, a sickening gurgling sound. His lungs had been punctured, probably his stomach, too. Massive internal damage. Ribs most likely badly damaged, too. Dagny tried not to diagnose the man further, knowing full well that she was probably the last thing he'd ever see. She should be doing what she could to comfort, not assess. A faint stinging began in her eyes of its own accord. She tried to quash the downward twitch of her lips, tried to smile and seem optimistic for the man. The man who had ruffled her nephew's hair and taught the six-year-old to swear in German, the man with whom she'd shared many a night watch and several pints of beer. The man with a wife and newborn back home, both of whom were patiently waiting for him to return. The man with a friggin' spastic poodle his ex-wife had named Fritzy.

"Don't speak, Williams. Save your strength... You'll be fine, okay? Captain'll be here in a minute, okay? We'll get you patched up in no time, eh? You'll have a nice new batch of scars to explain to your mother when we get back home." Her voice was soft, uncharacteristically so, and she knew it. It was all bullshit, and corny bullshit, at that. She knew it, Williams knew it, the damn birds in their perches above knew it, and yet Williams smiled –or tried to. His breathing was erratic. It wouldn't be long now...Damn it, where was the Captain?

"Di... Didn't even ...see 'im..."

Dagny winced inwardly at the rasping and gurgling sounds he made as he spoke, and narrowed her eyes outwardly at his words.

"Didn't see who?" She asked, feeling the tiny hairs at the back of her neck start to stand on end. Williams didn't answer. His head was starting to loll. Without thinking, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him, demanding, "Who? Damn it, Williams! Who? Who did this?"

She should have asked earlier, when he had more strength, she realized belatedly. Now, she would be lucky if she ever found out.

Williams turned his blue eyes over to her, just beginning to dull as the life finally began to leave him, and settled on something behind her. Slowly, painfully, he raised one of his arms to point to something behind her. It was not the action, however, but what he said next that chilled the blood in her very veins to ice.

"Him..."

Dagny whipped around, feeling her pupils constrict to pinpricks, her heart rate jumping just as it had down on the outcropping at the guerrilla encampment...

... And watched the very air before her ripple, bearing a distinctly humanoid shape...


	6. Encounter

**Title**: Blood On The Leaves  
**Summary**: "You know who's been following us, don't you?" "It's more of a case of "what", rather than of "whom"." Fact: Everything you do in the field can get you killed, including nothing.  
**Genre(s)**: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humour, Horror.  
**Warning(s)**: Violence, gore, coarse language, mature subject matter.

* * *

_Murphy's Law of Combat: Don't ever be the first, don't ever be the last, and don't ever volunteer to do anything._

**Chapter Five: Encounter**

Dagny whipped around, feeling her pupils constrict to pinpricks, her heart rate jumping just as it had down on the outcropping at the guerrilla encampment...

... And watched the very air before her ripple, bearing a distinctly humanoid shape...

Dagny froze, muscles tensing as a sudden rush of adrenaline hit her system. With the adrenaline came an almost painful sharpening of her senses, just as it had been at the guerrilla encampment. She could see it –whatever the hell it was- just barely, if she strained her eyes. Her eyes watered with the effort, and the slowly diming light of the fading day did little to help her. Impossibly tall –at least, she thought it was- and broad in built, whatever she was staring at gave her a distinct "male" impression... And this did not sit well with the oily, sickening wave of anxiety that settled in her gut. She felt a chill down her spine, despite the jungle's humidity, and wondered if this was what it was like to stare at a ghost... If this was what Williams had felt before he died. With a pang of regret, Dagny was suddenly acutely aware of the absence of her abandoned rifle and mentally kicked herself for her stupidity. Rule Number One: Never, ever drop your weapons! Goddamn it! How many times had she drilled that into Jansen's head, only to go and forget that cardinal rule herself?

She barely even caught the figure's sudden movement, instincts taking over as she dove to the side, bloody hands grasping her rifle as she twisted... And saw nothing.

Where the hell was it? Panic started to set in as her eyes darted about frantically, searching but not finding, despite her training, despite her knowledge that panicking could kill you even when nothing else wanted to...

She waited, tensed, straining her eyes and ears for something –anything. Seconds passed, and she could hear her Sergeant First Class in the distance, followed by two others, approaching rapidly. What had taken them so long? Why were they only just arriving now-

-A sharp, musky scent appeared out of nowhere, assaulting her nose and sending electric jolts of panic up her spine. Where was it? Where was that coming from?

Dagny turned her head, looking over her shoulder, knowing and yet not knowing, and found the scent only became stronger as she did so. The wave of anxiety turned into that cold, heart-clenching kind of fear, the kind that seeped in through her skin and went right down to the marrow of her bones. The kind that made the world suddenly seem silent, empty, except for her and that thing. The kind that cast aside all rational thought and put her most basic survival instincts in charge.

_It was right beside her_.

This time she wasn't fast enough to put some distance between herself and whatever it was.

* * *

"Sakariasen! Sakariasen, where the hell are you?"

They hadn't heard anything since Sakariasen had run off. No screams or gunshots, not even a radio transmission. The jungle had gone completely silent, making the sounds of their heavy footfalls and the crunching and rustling of the undergrowth seem impossibly loud as they ran after the third-in-command.

Images of the woman and soldiers, all dead or dangerously close to it, flashed through Zuberi's mind. Apprehension gnawed at his insides at the lack of communication from any of the three, apprehension and dread. Williams, Jurgen, and Sakariasen were some of the best in the two teams, aside from the Captain and himself. The loss of any of them would deal a serious blow to the teams. Too serious, he decided, picking up his pace, moving to the front of the group. Hayden and Niu moved up with him, both calling out. Captain Martinez and Major Langdon, for once not fighting, split up with the rest of the men and searched off to the side, widening the search field.

"Sakariasen? Ma'am? Sakarias- Shit!" Niu stopped abruptly, as if suddenly rooted to the spot. Zuberi and Hayden nearly collided with him, barely able to slow down in time. Zuberi was about to berate the fool for stopping without warning like that –bumping into each other and landing in a heap like they almost had would have been a prime target for any hostile, for God's sake!- when he saw just what, exactly, had caused Niu to react the way he had. He heard Hayden say something obscene, but couldn't have cared less at the time. He was too busy trying not to choke on the bile that rose to the back of his throat.

Blood. It was everywhere. Splattered all over the bright leaves of the low-lying plant life, pooled on the dark jungle floor, sprayed onto the grey-brown trunks of the thin trees... And there, the sight that made Zuberi feel as though the very warmth of his blood had deserted him... Off to the side of this blood-soaked clearing was SSgt. Sakariasen. Motionless, lying half on her back, half on her side, covered in blood. It saturated her clothes, stained her copper-red hair an almost black shade of crimson. It covered most of whatever skin was exposed, making Sakariasen seem deathly pale.

Hayden had already rushed over to the her side before Zuberi could open his mouth to order one of the two to check Sakariasen's vitals. Niu had his rifle out, clamped to his hip as he eyed the area warily. Zuberi move to Sakariasen's side, hand bringing forth his radio as he informed the Captain of his find.

Zuberi turned his dark eyes to Hayden, whose left-hand index and middle fingertips were at the Sakariasen's throat, feeling for a pulse. The right hand was occupied with quickly checking her torso and legs for any wounds. It was difficult to tell what blood might have been hers and what belonged to someone else –hopefully her assailant.

"She's alive." Hayden declared finally, drawing his hands away from the woman's throat. They came away stained a bright red; most of the blood on Sakariasen's person still fresh and wet. "Unconscious, and her pulse is weak, but she's alive."

"The blood?" How could someone be alive with so much blood everywhere but where it should be –in its owner's veins? Hayden shook his head. It wasn't Sakariasen's blood. She appeared to be unharmed. Out cold and covered in blood, but seemingly unharmed otherwise, though only a further, more detailed examination could confirm that.

"Captain, we've found Sakariasen." Zuberi informed his superior over the radio, eyes fixed on the unconscious form before him. He could barely see her chest rise and fall with each breath. Turning away, looking around, he could not help but think that nothing good or clean would ever grow in this tiny clearing ever again. The very soil seemed to him tainted somehow. As he turned his head to glance over at Hayden, he noticed the glint of something metallic in the red-stained grass. Curious, despite the situation, he reached down and found that the glint came from the metal clamp of Sakariasen's hair band. Wordlessly, he tucked the hair elastic into his pocket. He would return it to Sakariasen when she was conscious.

"And?" Major Langdon was the one who replied, sounding as though he couldn't care less about who they found so much as what they found.

"She's unconscious. Weak pulse." Hayden answered for him as Zuberi grit his teeth at the man's tone. Hayden and Niu were doing much the same, though Hayden did a remarkable job of not letting the anger seep into his voice. One of these days, some of the boys were going to have a nice, long talk with the Major... "Sir... I don't think Williams or Jurgen are... The place is covered in blood, sir. There's no way..." Hayden didn't finish. Didn't have to. The rest of the sentence was on everyone's mind, like a crushing weight on their shoulders.

On the other end of the line, he heard Captain Martinez curse, progressively getting louder and angrier, as Sergeants Lopez and Omi asked for their approximate location. Niu answered all such questions, directing them to look for certain "landmarks": the tree stump split in half was about three hundred metres directly south from their position; the large, oblong boulder with claw-marks on it was two hundred and fifty metres south-east of them...

Captain Martinez was the first to arrive, Sergeant Omi not far behind. They searched the area while Hayden did what he could to make sure that moving the Staff Sergeant wouldn't do and serious damage, but found no sign of either Jurgen or Williams, save for an ominous trail of blood that stopped dead once it hit a nearby rocky slope. Major Langdon, followed closely by Jansen, was that last to arrive. The latter of the two was also the first to leave; Jansen quickly found he couldn't stomach the scene. None present could blame him. Only one operator was absent, Zuberi noted. Klaus, Zuberi recalled as he looked around, remained at their camp with the children. His dark eyes settled warily on the Major Langdon... The man kept staring strangely at the unconscious form of Sakariasen. Neither Zuberi nor Hayden, both of whom were working out the best way to return her to their camp, liked the look on the Major's face much. Personally, it reminded Zuberi of the look a stereotypical "bad cop" would look at a "person of interest" before beating the verbal shit out of the poor soul while the "good cop" was out of the room.

It was about ten or fifteen minutes later when Cpt. Martinez and Sgt. Omi returned, shaking their heads when the Major demanded –quite callously- to know if they'd found anything. They all hung their heads in silence for a moment, either not knowing what to say or not wanting to say what had to be said. Silently, Hayden called Zuberi back to the task of moving Sakariasen, reaching over and tapping the Jamaican man's shoulder lightly. Zuberi was grateful for the distraction, even if the distraction was only slightly less dismal than the other matter at hand.

Jansen, looking pale and a little worse for wear, appeared just as Zuberi and Hayden had decided on simply carrying the woman back to camp. Coughing quietly to get their attention, the so-called "Team Idiot" wordlessly offered a rudimentary stretcher composed of a rough wood frame with canvas spread loosely over said frame –probably made of components from one of their tents. Surprised, and a little embarrassed that neither he nor Hayden had thought of that, Zuberi tested the strength of the canvas. It would hold, the canvas having been carefully secured and the frame put together properly. Hayden congratulated Jansen on his clever thinking, clasping the Sergeant's shoulder.

Evidently, Jansen had been brainstorming during his brief absence.

Any other time, Zuberi might have felt a twinge of approval –he knew that Sakariasen certainly would have, for all that she acted like Jansen was a burden- but he was rather more concerned with having the only other high-ranking officer taken care of; Martinez and Langdon, already squabbling like children, hardly counted as adults, much less officers, right now.

* * *

It was getting dark when Hayden, the only member of their teams with some advanced medical skills aside from Sakariasen herself, had finished examining her for any injuries he might have missed. Throughout the entire inspection, the woman had only stirred once. Worrisome, but hardly a death sentence.

The SFC. Zuberi had settled for assisting the man while the Major and Captain had argued over what should be done about the missing operators and Jansen had tried to assure the children that, no, Sakariasen wasn't dead. The children refused to believe a word Jansen told them and continuously whimpered and cried –completely forgetting that Sakariasen was no special friend of theirs to begin with, as most small children had a bizarre tendency to do. The other soldiers, finding themselves unable to assist and left with nothing to do save stand guard, had spread out around the camp. They would have to rest assured that Sakariasen was fine, save for the bruising around her neck. Said bruise was the only mark found on the woman; a dark and very large, hand-shaped discolouration around her neck. Almost too large... If the size of that handprint was anything to go by, it was a wonder than the woman was not more severely injured –or worse, dead.

Watching wordlessly as Hayden cleaned up, rinsing the blood, smeared onto his hands as he had cleaned it off of Sakariasen's skin with a wet rag, off in a small pot of water. The examination had hardly been professional, but Hayden had done his best. What else could they ask of him? Hayden was no medic, though Sakariasen had taught him a thing or two, and few members of their teams had would felt comfortable or brave enough to remove any clothing whatsoever from the woman –conscious or unconscious. Still, despite his obvious discomfort, Hayden had understood that it was necessary to do so and had gone about that business as quickly as he could without missing anything.

Jansen understood why Hayden and the others were so uncomfortable with this. It seemed disrespectful, even though the rational part of everyone's mind told them all that it was necessary... Still, it just seemed wrong. Sakariasen, despite her sometimes harsh demeanour and her preference to remain distant from most of the teams, had taught them all at least one valuable lesson and had become a vaguely maternal figure in the teams –be that because of her medical skills and, thus, her role as caretaker of the injured, or simply because of the fact that she was the only woman, no one knew. The only thing that was for certain was that the whole ordeal was uncomfortable.

Next to the Captain, who was more like a surrogate father-figure than anything else, and Zuberi, who hated his guts, Jansen found himself thinking of the staff sergeant as more of a mentor than a superior. The woman, for all of her introverted characteristics, had been teaching him valuable lessons since he'd joined the team: how not to handle grenades, how best to run nine kilometres while carrying a log with four or five other soldiers, ideal spots to place any C4 or remote-controlled explosives, which wires to tamper with where and in what objects... The best way to approach the Captain about his most recent screw-up...

Jansen's eyes flicked over to the Staff Sergeant, now redressed and cleaned of the blood that had marred her skin earlier. Hayden had no idea when she'd wake up, saying that the bruising looked pretty bad, like Sakariasen's assailant had been trying to crush her trachea, but that he didn't think anything serious had happened otherwise. For all Hayden knew –and the sergeant had confessed as much outright- Sakariasen was simply sleeping off the shock of the attack.

As Jansen turned his thought elsewhere, he could not help but hope that, despite all of that blood, despite the lack of a trail, Williams and Jurgen were still alive...

A fool's hope, and he knew it, but even a fool's hope was better than admitting what had happened... Better than admitting that a hostile had mercilessly slaughtered two experienced soldiers and had tried to suffocate another.

And that was how Jansen spent the rest of his night; standing guard, and hoping that, somehow, his fellow comrades were still alive, still saveable...


	7. Deliberation

Chapter Six: Deliberation

To be perfectly honest, it had not been surprising that it was Jansen who had first noticed that the team's staff sergeant had finally awoken just before dawn. The kid had been quietly moving throughout the camp, waking each soldier with the customary order of "Stand To" –the strategy of awakening before dawn and staying awake until after dusk to be better prepared for an ambush. When he had moved to bypass the staff sergeant, assuming that she was still unconscious, he was rather startled by the hand that grasped his shoulder out of the blue. Startled enough to yelp and irk every other soldier in the camp, actually; as a cardinal rule, one simply did not speak while standing to.

"Sorry." Sakariasen looked somewhat contrite as she apologized for startling the sergeant, pushing herself up into a sitting position. Hayden was quick to move to his staff sergeant's side, being the only other vaguely medically qualified member of their combined teams other than Sakariasen herself. Jansen shifted from foot to foot, debating on remaining to hear what Hayden concluded about the condition of the woman. He glanced around, eyes drifting over the rather amusing sight of Sergeant Niu attempting to restrain the three children from launching themselves at Sakariasen, and found himself on the receiving end of one of Sergeant First Class Kaye's nastier glares. Without another thought, Jansen scurried off to awaken the rest of the soldiers, all the while wondering just what he'd done to annoy the sergeant first class this time.

Come to think of it, the sergeant first class had been acting a bit strangely lately, glaring at Major Langdon, glaring at him, hovering around Sakariasen... Briefly, Jansen wondered why, and then shook his head sorrowfully. SFC Kaye was a moody git on principle. The "whys" didn't matter.

Sakariasen submitted to the quick, no-nonsense exam Sgt. Hayden imposed upon her, checking her pupils, her pulse, the bruising around her throat, all while quietly asking questions about how she felt, and what hurt where. She grimaced and winced as the bruises were prodded and poked, and grimaced again when she found that swallowing in and of itself seemed rather painful, but she gave no indication otherwise of her discomfort.

"Light-headedness? Feeling dizzy at all?"

"No."

"Anything other than your throat hurt? Your head, maybe?"

"A little."

"Where?"

"Back of my head."

"Doesn't look like anything more than a bump. You probably hit your head when you collapsed. Do you feel nauseous?"

"No."

"Is there anything else-?"

It was here that Major Langdon interrupted, and quite loudly so, angrily demanding, "You could tell us just what the hell you were thinking, running off like that! And then you can get started on just what the hell happened to you, Sakariasen!" His anger seemed strangely forced...

Everyone in the camp jumped at the man's outburst, with the sole exception of Captain Martinez. While everyone was wondering just what kind of moron would start shouting while standing to, Captain Martinez quietly rose to his feet and, to the shock of the rest of the men, grabbed the Major by the back of his collar and wordlessly dragged the now furious man away from their temporary campsite. If the Major had been a larger, stronger man, then perhaps he might have detached his shirt from the Captain's fist, but he was not and, thus, settled for shouted a rather impressive variety of profanities –many of which were unprintable. Once the two were out of sight, a raucous yelling rose over the tree tops –Major Langdon expressing his displeasure and threatening to have Captain Martinez decommissioned, if not worse, no doubt- followed by a reply kept quiet, but definitely harsh.

Inwardly, Jansen wondered when, exactly, the two men had started to become so blatantly aggressive towards each other. That was breaking some sort of rule, wasn't it? Martinez was going to be so far up shit creek when they got back that it wasn't even funny.

No one in the camp made a sound as the two suddenly fell silent, their voices hushed enough that it was impossible for anyone within the camp to hear them anymore. No one, that is, but Jansen, who had wandered off into the foliage to the side of the campsite. What had probably been intended to be a quick stop to relieve himself turned out to be a discovery of an entirely gruesome nature.

"HOLY SHIT!"

Sakariasen jumped to her feet, one hand searching for and locating her rifle, the other darting for the combat knife she kept in a thigh holster... Only to find the blade gone, missing from its sheath. A horrible, sinking feeling filled her then as she looked in the direction that Jansen's cry had come from, though she could not say why.

**XxXxXELSEWHEREXxXxX**

Less than two kilometres from the camp, a figure, perched lazily on a thick, strong bough of one of the larger surrounding trees, shifted, watching the thermal images of the humans below scramble about, caught off guard by the cry of their comrade.

Evidently, they'd found the presents he'd left them. Good.

Several more cries, some alarmed and others angered, came from the human camp. He paid them no mind, leisurely cleaning the dried blood from under his claws with a knife. The same blade the adult female in the camp had used against one of his own comrades, as it just so happened. His comrade was dead now, his carelessness in underestimating the humans proving to be his downfall. Unusual, but not unheard of. The young ones were always so sloppy.

Switching the thermal vision off and cycling through the visual settings of his mask until he found what humans called "the visible spectrum", the figure examined the blade for a moment. It was a small weapon, something that might be given to a pup; unlikely to cause any serious damage and worn more as a sentimental trinket than an actual weapon.

Nonetheless, it was still a weapon and was thus potentially lethal in the hands of a warrior who knew what he was doing –or, in this particular instance, _she_.

Perhaps when he finished picking off the lower ranking humans, he would give it back... and see what else the warrior female was capable of. The female's skull would make a fine addition to his collection –especially now that she'd killed one of his fellow hunters.

Trilling quietly, the sound muffled by his mask, he tied the knife to next to his own larger one with some wire and resumed observing the group of humans below, cycling back to thermal vision for the time being.


	8. Perhaps

Chapter Seven: Perhaps

Sergeant Jansen was retching off to the side again.

Dagny didn't blame the boy; she was feeling rather inclined to join him as she stared at the scene before her. Her stomach rolled as the wind changed direction and she found herself upwind of the corpses. Even her own strict self-control could not prevent the grimace that tugged the corners of her lips downwards. The stench was strong enough that it seemed she could actually taste the rotting flesh... Her stomach protested violently to that train of thought and she quickly moved onto another before all pretences of dignity and composure fled her mind.

Tearing her gaze away, Dagny looked over to Klaus, the sergeant currently preventing the children from discovering just what had the adults so upset. He didn't seem to be having difficulty, now that the initial alarm that Jansen's cry had incited had faded... Faded only to be replaced by something far worse...Dagny shook her head, feeling the nausea bubble up once more. The children seemed like a good subject to focus on, she concluded, desperate to maintain her composure and keep the contents of her stomach down.

There were three in total, two boys and a little girl, all around the age of six. Trying to drown out the sounds of Jansen's gagging, she worked on placing a name to each face: the darker boy with the blue eyes was Leon; Jacob was the lighter boy with green eyes; Julia was the girl with brown eyes and dark ochre skin.

In the background, Captain Martinez's voice rang out, ordering some poor unfortunate soul to cut the corpses down from their suspended resting places in the trees. She winced at the sickening thud that followed, followed by another shortly after. The children didn't seem to notice.

Niu stumbled out of the jungle and joined Jansen in his vomiting mere moments later. Involuntarily, Dagny's eyes turned towards the bodies, only just visible from where she was standing, once more. The sight was just as horrifying now as it had been the first time.

Dark red blood dripped quietly from each of them, forming an ever-widening pool below on the damp, tainted soil. The red muscles and pinkish ligaments exposed to the air, flies buzzing around lazily as they gorged themselves and laid their foul eggs. Desecrating the dead.

Lying in the merging pools of blood, still wet and putrid, the pinkish coils of intestines, rent from their warm-blooded residences, decayed on the jungle floor, beside the other organs that were already overrun by insects: lungs, livers, hearts, kidneys...

Cloudy, unseeing eyes stared out at the world in horror, seeming all the wider for their lack of lids. The rigor mortis that had kept the muscles of their faces contorted, each face telling in a thousand words the horror and pain of their dying moments, had faded. The images still remained, as if etched onto the backs of her eyelids...

The bodies swung in the faint breeze, skinless, faceless, and lifeless, and with the breeze, the sickening, almost sweet, aroma of death and decay swept through the camp.

Many could not hold their stomachs.

A small voice in the back of her mind spoke up as she stared at the corpses. A small voice that wondered where their skin had gone...

This time, when her stomach rolled, Dagny could not refrain from joining her heaving comrades.

**XxXxXxXxXxX  
**

Zuberi's eyes flickered over to the clearing, landing on the doubled-over staff sergeant, feeling desperate to distract himself from the grisly scene before him.

It occurred to him that he'd been doing that –checking on Sakariasen- quite a bit recently. Strange, considering that he had no special relationship with the woman. She was a fellow soldier, a frighteningly meticulous sniper, and something of a maternal figure to the others, but that was as far as things went. Regardless, he'd caught himself glancing over at the woman ever since she'd been brought, unconscious, back their temporary camp. Each time, he'd wondered why he felt the compulsion to do so. Each time he asked himself this question, his mind provided him with the same answer: because he'd gotten used to having the staff sergeant there, just as everyone else had.

Cool, calm, and professional were the popular terms to describe the often disturbing combination of a sniper, a medic, and a maternal figure, but what many failed to recognize was that she was also dependable. The concept of turning around one day and not seeing the woman berating Jansen in that dangerously mother-like manner, or cleaning her rifle, or even lamenting the state of her hair while trying to pretend that she wasn't nearly as vain as she was... It was unnerving. Sakariasen was always just _there_; only a few paces away, watching his back as she always did. It felt bizarre, recalling a time when she wasn't _there_ –unnatural, almost.

The sickly sweet stench of the corpses before him jerked Zuberi out of his thoughts and, like so many of his comrades, he felt his stomach roll. His dark eyes returned to the corpses, and he instantly wished they hadn't. The flies had been disturbed, now furiously buzzing about in an angry cloud, protesting loudly, and with them the scent of rotting flesh seemed all the stronger in the cool morning sun. He shuddered to think of the smell in the heat of the afternoon.

Once more, Zuberi looked at the corpses, and thought that perhaps, years from now, he might be able to think of Williams and Jurgen without seeing these lifeless, bloody forms with their milky, sightless eyes and their innards strewn about on the jungle floor.

_Perhaps_.

Tearing his eyes away from the vision of gore and horror, Zuberi's eyes found the form of the captain. Martinez held in his hands the dog tags of their fallen comrades, covered in the brownish-red of dried blood, which had hung around the necks of the cadavers. A pang of something close to sympathy hit the tall, Jamaican man then. He would not wish the task of telling Williams' and Jurgen's families of their deaths on anyone. Williams with his newlywed wife and newborn, and Jurgen with his three sons and only daughter... No, he wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even Major Langdon.

Almost wistfully, Zuberi recalled Williams' wedding. He'd invited everyone from the team, including Captain Martinez –not really a breach of protocol, but a little unusual nonetheless. Lopez and Niu had drunkenly waxed poetic about Williams' quirks and odd mannerisms to his new in-laws (much to their horror)... Klaus, Jurgen, and Hayden had burst out into song (in fake German, no less) and annoyed the mothers of the groom and bride to no end... Jansen and Sakariasen had spent the better part of the festivities discussing cultural wedding traditions, all of which utterly confused and bemused poor Williams' father, while Martinez had looked on and sighed at the (mostly harmless) trouble some of his men were causing. And Zuberi? He'd found himself bewildered as he listened to one of the bridesmaids trying –unsuccessfully- to chat him up while babbling on about anything and everything from the weather to the lighting.

The memory brought a faint smile to Zuberi's lips –one that died as he thought about the chances of such happier times coming around once more. Perhaps one day, years from now. Maybe around the same time he could remember Jurgen and Williams as they were in life and not in death.

Perhaps.

God, he needed a stiff drink.


End file.
